


Isn't Life Swell?

by tjs_whatnot



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the years Brian and John are often times there for each other...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't Life Swell?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carryokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryokee/gifts).



Dec 3, 1989  
Shermer, Illinois  
  
Brian Johnson got out of his hand-me-down Volvo in the parking lot of the Cook County police station and marveled, like he always did when back from college and confronted with his old haunts, that not much had changed. Not that the police station was an old haunt per se. He’d only been there twice before, truth be told, and only once had he seen the inside of a jail cell, and then, thankfully only for about five minutes. Then his father burst in, his face red and sputtering angrily as he pulled him by his jacket, making Brian swear that he would no longer associate with Andrew Clark or John Bender ever again.  
  
He had made the promise back then.  
  
He’d broken it almost immediately after. The Saturdays with the Breakfast Club, a name he’d given them and that they all had adopted, were just as important to him as the Science, Math and Physics clubs and would prepare him for life just as well, even if it wasn’t apparent to his parents, or his friends in those other clubs.  
  
For Brian, it was exciting and real in a way that numbers, abstracts and matter had once been, a challenge that always had him alert and ready for discovery. Even that trip to jail when he was sixteen had taught him lessons he’d have never learned otherwise; mainly having to do with limits and the need for them.  
  
The second visit to the police station during the summer before he left for college had been very much like this one. John needed someone to bail him out. Brian liked when John needed him, when he came to him with problems he couldn’t or wouldn’t trust anyone else with and so here he was, two years later, bailing John out once again. Some might think that John was using him, but Brian didn’t see it that way. He was getting something out of the deal as well, it was just harder to articulate just what.  
  
“Just like old times,” John said with his shit-eater grin as he strutted out of the cell, shrugging off the policeman escorting him out to where Brian was waiting. Brian had seen that faux-bravado in the face of authority too many times to fall for it. Things didn’t slide off John’s back as much as he’d like people to believe.  
  
“You’re just lucky I’m home from school this weekend,” Brian answered.  
  
Bender gathered his belongs and headed out the door. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m the luckiest fucker that ever fuckin’ lived.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Bender growled and opened the door. “A Volvo? Really? Are you _trying_  to be a fuckin’ cliché?”  
  
“It was a gift.”  
  
“Of course it was.”  
  
They got in and Brian started the engine. There was a definite whine in the carburetor.  
  
“Some gift.”  
  
“Fuck you. I didn’t say it was a new car, but still.”  
  
“What was the prize this time?”  
  
“I won the Schark Fellowship. My parents were overjoyed, but there’s only so much a bus driver and homemaker can afford to show their pride. So again I say, fuck you.”  
  
John twirled his fingers at his temple. “Touché.” Then he rubbed his hands together in front of the sputtering heater. “You want to go get a drink?”  
  
“You think that’s a good idea?” Brian asked, thumbing over his shoulder to the police station behind them.  
  
“Sure. I’m not the one driving this time.”  
  
Brian glared at him.  
  
“Fine,” John conceded. “We can grab a six pack and go to my place.”  
  
“Still in the rat infested flea bag?”  
  
“Nope. Moved up, no more fleas for me. Cockroaches.”  
  
Brian turned up his nose but shrugged. “Alright.”  
  
They compromised on the beer. John wanted Schlitz, Brian Heineken, so they got Budweiser.  
  
“College’s changed you,” John said as they walked out of the Gas N Sip.  
  
“I don’t think as much as you imagine. Besides, I had no opinion of beer before college.”  
  
John shrugged and said under his breath, “Stayed here with me you wouldn’t be drinking fuckin’ Heineken.”  
  
Brian pretended not to hear that.  
  
When they got to John’s fifth floor walk-up Brian was out of breath as he leaned against the wall. “How do cockroaches even get up here?”  
  
“Cockroaches are the fuckin’ Brian Johnson of the insect species. There is nothing they can’t figure out.”  
  
“Um. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”  
  
“Maybe. If you scratch deep enough.”  
  
The room was larger than John’s last place, with an actual kitchen off of it and a door that could have possibly lead to a bedroom _and_  a bathroom.  
  
“Wow. Moving up in the world. And look, a television too.”  
  
They sat down and John went to turn on the television.  
  
“Why don’t we listen to music instead?” Brian asked. “It’s easier to talk over.”  
  
John looked at him suspiciously. “Is there a _John, we need to talk_  moment coming up?”  
  
“Not at all. Well, I certainly don’t mean to start one, but it’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other, we might want to talk from time to time.”  
  
John scowled at him but put the remote down and walked to the boombox on the floor in the corner. Megadeath blared from the speakers mind numbingly loud. “Better?” he shouted.  
  
Brian flipped him the bird.  
  
They drank. They drank some more. John got out a stash. They smoked. They smoked some more. Then they laughed. And laughed some more.  
  
Only then did they actually talk.  
  
“What the fuck happened this time?” Brian asked.  
  
John shrugged. “I drank. I drove. I crashed. What else do you need to know?”  
  
“Why you were drinking, why you drove, why you crashed.”  
  
John pointed his finger in front of him as if he was consulting an invisible chart. “Because I was thirsty, because I am dumb and, um, let me see… um, because I didn’t see the lamppost.”  
  
“You know I only bailed you out because it was a lamppost, right? You hit anything that could hit back next time and you’re on your own.”  
  
John smiled slowly. “Next time? You’ve softened in your old age.”  
  
Brian scowled but otherwise ignored John’s taunt.  
  
“So, what are you doing home anyway?” John asked after a long silence. “It’s too soon for Christmas break, Thanksgiving was too long ago.”  
  
“We get a week to study for finals.”  
  
“And you came home? You have to go back for the finals, then come back for Christmas?”  
  
Brian shrugged. “It’s not that far away, three hours tops.”  
  
“Don’t bullshit me. There’s a story there.”  
  
“Tell me your story first.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then give me 500 dollars.”  
  
“Once upon a time, John Bender lost his job. Your turn.”  
  
“Shit. Again?”  
  
John handed the bong back to Brian. “It’s no big deal. It was a shit job anyway. I’ll find another one just like it.”  
  
“And that’s enough for you?”  
  
“It has to be, doesn’t it? What are the options? Wait, don’t—”  
  
“School. You could go to school. Trade school.”  
  
“Oh god. Aren’t you bored of your own sanctimony by now? Besides, weren’t you going to tell me a story?”  
  
“I don’t think I was.”  
  
“Ah, don’t pussy out. I told you my story, you tell me yours.”  
  
Brian brought the bong to his mouth, but before he lit up, he said, “Once upon a time Brian Johnson realized he was gay. The end.”  
  
“You just now realized that?” John asked as Brian was inhaling deep at the bong. He spluttered smoke through his nose as he tried not to cough up a lung.  
  
John put his hand on Brian’s shoulder and squeezed.  
  
“You knew?”  
  
“Oh honey, everyone knew,” John hissed overdramatically.  
  
Brian hung his head. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”  
  
“Same reason no one told me. It’s something you have to figure out for yourself.”  
  
Brian looked at John. “No one told you? Told you what?”  
  
John pulled him closer. “Welcome to the family, son.”  
  
Brian turned his head to look at John full on now. Brian had thought he’d gotten good at knowing when John was trying to mess with him, but his mind was blurred and there was a buzzing as his confusion turned to anger.“That’s fuckin’ low, even for you, and you’ve done some fucked up low shit.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Brian stood up, his anger turned to rage. “You? You are gay? Fuck off you are.”  
  
“I’m telling you the truth.”  
  
“I come here and… and… bear my fuckin’ soul, just give you so much fuckin’ ammo and this is… this… _fuck_! I should have known.”  
  
John stood up too, but unlike Brian, he seemed almost exceptionally calm and collected. He went to reach for Brian’s sleeve. “Brian… I’m—”  
  
“Don’t touch me. _Ever_!” Brian jerked his arm out of John’s reach. There was a sting in the corners of his eyes, but he squinted against it because there was no fuckin’ way he was going to cry now, not even in anger. He’d grown up too much for that shit, and he wasn’t giving anyone that access to his psyche. He really couldn’t believe he had forgotten that a moment before.  
  
John raised his hands in surrender and they stood and looked at each other for a long time. John remained calm. Brian couldn’t see past the rage and sudden blur in his eyes. He had to get out of there.  
  
  
  
January 12, 1990  
Springfield, Illinois  
  
John found Brian at the closest bar to Brian’s house. He hadn’t known to go there, but he did know enough of Brian’s quirks to know that he’d drink close by, even if it wasn't a college bar because Brian couldn’t afford to live close to campus.  
  
He was at the end of the bar, sitting by himself, very much a standout student in a townie bar. His button down covered with a vest and khaki pants standing out ridiculously in the blue collar, flannel and denim crowd. He didn’t seem to notice.  
  
John, of course, fit right in.  
  
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked before John had even sat down, before Brian even looked up to see John was there.  
  
“I’ll have what he’s having.”  
  
Brian looked up and the bartender glowered, reaching down to the bottom dregs of the cooler and pulling out a Heineken. John laughed to himself as he threw a $20 on the bar.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Brian whispered, looking over his shoulder as if he expected the rest of the gang to be behind him. John would have called them all too, but in the end decided they needed to finish the conversation they’d had weeks before, just the two of them.  
  
“And a Merry Christmas to you too,” John said, raising his bottle.  
  
“How did you know to find me here?”  
  
John shrugged. “Trajectory and patterns.”  
  
Brian almost smiled. “Smart ass.”  
  
John took that as an invitation to join him. He took a swig of the imported beer and scowled. “How can you drink this shit?”  
  
“Again with this?”  
  
“Nah. Just thought we could use an ice-breaker.”  
  
“And insulting my taste in beer was your solution?”  
  
“It’s worked in the past.”  
  
Brian raised his bottle in a touché gesture. “So, what brings you here for real, and don’t give me any of that holiday cheer bullshit.”  
  
“No? I’m not allowed to be festive?”  
  
“No. You’re not. Unless every single thing I knew about you was a lie.”  
  
“You’re mad.”  
  
Brian didn’t answer, which John took as all the answer he needed. “Mad because you think I lied, or because you realize I told you the truth and kept it from you all these years?”  
  
It still took Brian a minute to say anything. “Any chance it can be for both of those reasons simultaneously?”  
  
John smiled slowly. “I guess it could be.”  
  
They sat in silence for a while, each nursing their beers for different reasons; Brian because he looked like he’d had a few already, his head drooped, his shoulders slouched, and John because he really did think it was shit beer.  
  
“So, you believe me now?” John asked.  
  
Brian shrugged. “I guess. I believe that you aren’t lying to me, but I don’t understand… it doesn’t make sense. How can you be… be…”  
  
“Gay? I know. It defies reason, yeah? We all can’t be prissy little math geniuses. Some of us have to be white trash grease monkeys.”  
  
“How come you never told me?”  
  
John shrugged. “I did tell you, I just picked the very worst time to do it. But, I haven’t really told anyone; it’s no one’s business.”  
  
“But it’s part of who you are. It’s something important and fundamental about who you are. Don’t you think your friends, your family… well, maybe not _your_  family… should know?”  
  
John took another slow swallow. “I guess. But I also don’t think it needs to be something that I need to gather everyone around for and give them a ‘We Need to Talk’ speech, ya know?”  
  
“Does Alison and Andy know?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Claire?”  
  
“She figured it out rather painfully.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Walked in as I was jerking it to a Sports Illustrated that wasn’t the swimsuit edition.”  
  
“She didn’t!” Brian hissed through his teeth.  
  
John nodded before bowing his head. “It wasn’t one of my finest moments. Though, to be fair, it was Wayne Gretzky.”  
  
Brian raised his eyebrows, then after a moment nodded.  
  
“Why were you with her anyway, if you knew you preferred men?”  
  
Another long silence. “There is a difference between knowing you want something and actually having the sack to change your whole life and hurt people you care about to have it. You know?”  
  
“Yeah. I know.”  
  
“Wait. That’s why you came home between finals. Why you were home to bail me out. To tell your parents?”  
  
Brian nodded.  
  
“How’d it go? Did they take it well?”  
  
“Not too well, no.”  
  
“I always thought they just saw you as a brain in a jar. I can’t imagine how telling them you’re gay would disrupt that. It’s not like you’re flunking out of college.”  
  
“No. Not as bad as that. Not yet. I think for the most part, you’re right, they do think of me as a brain in a jar. I’m not supposed to have problems or need too much. When things happen that disrupt this idea of me, it’s…jarring for them.”  
  
“But you think they’ll be okay?”  
  
Brian shrugged. “Probably. You know, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my plans. Or their plans for me.”  
  
He took a long drink from his bottle. “What about you? You ever going to tell your parents?”  
  
John scoffed. “You’ve meet my parents. What do you think?”  
  
“Yeah,” Brian mumbled. “I guess that would be rather pointless.”  
  
There was yet another very long silence, this one much more comfortable than all the rest before John put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m here for you if you need me.”  
  
Brian leaned into the hand for a moment before shrugging it off. “Of course you are. You’re not allowed to leave the state. Plus, you owe me 500 dollars.”  
  
  
June 3rd, 1991  
Chicago Illinois  
  
Brian had thought everything would change once he had come out and accepted his sexuality and in fact embraced it. So far though, it had proved anti-climatic and he still waited for something to happen, anything to mark that his life had changed drastically.  
  
Brian had one more summer before he could escape Illinois. His parents seemed to be counting the days too. It was nothing they said; they’d long ago mastered the art of silent disappointment. Only this time Brian couldn’t make it easier for them; there was no extra credit assignments he could do to make them happy.  
  
So, when the university offered him a summer job teaching entry level algebra on their Chicago campus, he jumped at the opportunity. And when John lost yet another job two weeks after Brian moved, he jumped at that opportunity too.  
  
“Come to Chicago. I have a stipend and a house on campus. Think of it like a vacation.”  
  
The phone was quiet and Brian imagined John contemplating all the reasons he couldn’t move away from Shermer. Anyone else and John might be able to fight his way out of having to change his life in any way. Brian though, was one of the only people in John’s life, especially now that Andy, Alison and Claire had left the state, that would call him on his bullshit.  
  
“It’s only for the summer. If you hate it, which seriously, how could you, then by all means, move back to our shit-hole hometown. Our shit-hole hometown where you have literally worked and been fired from every possible job you are qualified for.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Tell me what I said that wasn’t true.” There was silence on the other line. “No? Nothing?”  
  
“You ever think maybe I don’t want to live with you?”  
  
“Never crossed my mind. Here’s the address. See you next week.”  
  
If anyone had told Brian that John Bender would be one of the only people he still talked to out of high school, that John Bender would be what Brian could only call his very best friend, Brian would have thought them delusional. If they had told him that John Bender would be the only other gay man to come out of Shermer, Illinois, well, he would have thought they had entered an alternate universe where up is down and right is wrong. Yet, somehow, all those things were true.  
  
After all, for Brian, it wasn’t the gay thing that united them, or the fact that they both came from working class, struggling families or even that their home life had always been _unsatisfactory_. It was that they both dealt with these things in similar ways. He saw through John’s defenses of running when things got hard because he fought against that himself, though his running was never as self destructive as John’s, in his rebellion, mouthing off and aggressive behavior. No, Brian’s running made him excel, his escaping in books, in theories, in constants.  
  
Because Brian saw this in John, he was one of the only people who really _saw_  John, so he was one of the only people who John ever let his guard down with. It hadn’t been easy, John hadn’t given Brian that willingly. No Brian had to push there in the beginning. It was three months before John was to graduate and dropped out of school instead that Brian first pushed his way into John’s psyche.  
  
Brian didn’t ask why, didn’t want any excuses really; he just showed up at John’s house the next Monday after school with the GED practice test and an arm full of textbooks. With Brian’s constant pushing, nagging and once almost going to blows, John got his GED two weeks before he would have graduated and got one of the highest scores in Illinois history.  
  
John was still an asshole, there was no denying that only, well, with Brian, John wasn’t allowed to play the dumb card anymore, wasn’t allowed to quit, to run from things because they were too hard.  
  
  
August 19th 1991  
Chicago, Illinois  
  
John was bent and buried under the hood of Brian’s car.  
  
“What are you doing?” Brian asked when he approached. He had books under his arm and his backpack was overflowing with papers.  
  
“Deep sea fishing, numbnuts, what does it look like I’m doing?”  
  
“It looks like you’re making a lamp,” Brian said with a laugh. That joke had never worn thin between the two of them and was used now to describe the certain skills that John excelled at that Brian never would.  
  
“Something like that. Your carburetor is shot and it’s been driving me crazy forever. I had some time off today and thought I’d fix it.”  
  
“Thank you,” Brian said and then stood there and watched John work.  
  
“Is there something I could do for you?” John asked after a minute.  
  
“No, no. Just wondering how long this would take.”  
  
“Probably another hour, why?” John  asked, standing up and looking at Brian and then groaning inwardly. Brian had that _Please can we go and have gay adventures! Can we? Can we?_  look. John had forgotten what it was like to be new at this, and he’d never been as _new_  as Brian. John couldn’t imagine never having had been with _anyone_  ever. It seemed incomprehensible. Part of him wanted to get Brian laid immediately, but there was another part, a part he couldn’t even explain, that wanted to keep Brian innocent, safe and well, _whole_  for as long as he could.  
  
“You want to go out tonight?” Brian asked.  
  
“Don’t you have papers to grade?”  
  
“I’ve done a few, the rest can wait until tomorrow. I’ve got all weekend.”  
  
John sighed. “Where do you want to go this time?”  
  
They had been going from bar to bar in Chicago’s gay community, Boystown, and hadn’t found a bar that they both enjoyed. Brian liked to talk, to mingle, and it was hard to do that in a place where groping was high on the agenda, and for John, it was all about the anonymous sex. That needed dancing, loud music, sweating and shirtlessness.  It did not need chit-chat. If John wanted to talk, he’d stay home with Brian and crack open a six pack and call it a night.  
  
John turned back to his work.  
  
“Want to try Manhole?” Brian asked, almost too innocently.  
  
John bashed his head on the hood of the car in a shocked, knee-jerk reaction. “Seriously?”  
  
“It looks like it could be fun.”  
  
“It looks like a place that would eat someone like you up and spit you out. You don’t even own anything leather.”  
  
“No. But, just because I don’t wear leather myself, doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate others who do.”  
  
John looked at Brian again. This was obviously going to be a real conversation now. “If you want to drink and look at someone wearing leather, we can stay here and I’ll put on mine.”  
  
Brian mumbled something that John couldn’t make out, or didn’t want to acknowledge had actually come from Brian’s mouth. “What was that?”  
  
“I said,” Brian started, raising his voice. “Sure, but are you going to spank me later.”  
  
Yeah, that’s what John thought he’d heard.  
  
“Is that something you’d even like?” John asked his blushing friend, feeling red in the face himself.  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I like. But I do know that I’d like to try some things. Don’t you want to try some things?”  
  
“With you?” John asked, confused and horrified.  
  
“Why not with me?” Brian asked in a hurt whisper. John didn’t even know how to answer that, didn’t even know if it was a legitimate question. After a moment of awkward silence, Brian continued, “I know what you’re doing when you tell me you’re going to the ‘bathroom’ or out for a ‘smoke.’ If sex means so little, why don’t you want to do it with me?”  
  
John laughed and regretted it immediately when he saw Brian’s face fall. “I didn’t mean... it’s just sometimes... well, sometimes you’re so stupid. Really, you’re an idiot.”  
  
“Fuck you.” Brian said, turning away.  
  
John reached for Brian’s shirt to stop him. Saw the grease marks his fingers made, and grabbed a cloth. Brian turned back around.  
  
“Come on. You have to realized how stupid that was, right? There’s a difference from what I do and what you want. You know there is.”  
  
Brian shrugged, but it was a while before he answered in a whisper, “I’m just so _tired_.”  
  
“Tired of what?”  
  
“Of not knowing, of not doing... of being... afraid.”  
  
“And you think you and I would be a good thing?”  
  
“I’m not afraid of you.”  
  
John laughed. “And there’s your first mistake. But you want to get out there? For real? Manhole is not where to start, believe me. We’ll go to The Northside, or The Loft. I’ll be your wingman.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sure,” John answered, trying to sound convincing. He supposed it was time for Brian to finally get laid, no matter John’s own thoughts on the matter. It wasn’t about him. He knew that. Still, that night when Brian was laughing at some stupid thing that some stupid frat boy was whispering breathily in Brian’s ear John had a hard time remembering.  
  
  
  
August 9th, 1992  
Chicago, Illinois  
  
Brian screeched into Mercy Hospital’s parking lot and put his car in park, exhaling deeply like he had forgotten to breathe in the long drive up to Chicago. He had gotten the call that morning, just three hours ago, and had dropped everything—packing, so much packing—and raced up, almost getting himself killed twice along the way. The irony of that was not lost on him as he cursed the fuckin’ traffic that started 20 miles out of the city limits.  
  
It had been Allison who had called him. They hadn’t spoken in almost a year so he knew it was bad news, and somehow, he knew it was John.  
  
“John’s in the hospital,” she started, wasting no time for pleasantries.  
  
Brian’s first panicked thought was _another DUI. That’s it for him. Prison_. “What happened?”  
  
“He was mugged. Or that’s what we think.”  
  
“What do you mean that’s what you think? Where is he? How bad is it?”  
  
“We don’t really know what happened, we just got the call ourselves about an hour ago. The hospital called Claire, as she’s still his emergency contact and he was unconscious. We’re at Mercy and they no longer have him listed as critical but… I don’t… I really don’t know how he is…”  
  
Brian could tell that she’d started crying. That wasn’t a good sign. It took a lot to get Alison to cry. Or it had.  
  
“I’m leaving now and will get there as soon as I can. If you get to talk to him, tell him that, okay? Tell him I’m on my way.”  
  
With one last look to the disarray of boxes that was the entirety of his apartment, and a fleeting panic that the movers would be there on Monday, he sprinted to his car, relieved that he had already filled his tank in preparation for the drive to Boston on Monday.  
  
Then it hit him. If he would have gotten the call only a few days later, he would have been a thousand miles away and up to his eyeballs in grad school preparation. Grad school preparation. Even rushing into the hospital, or maybe especially because he was rushing into a hospital, he was overwhelmed with how soon his life would change, how he would be leaving Illinois and all he knew and maybe he’d be back, but not the same, not even close to the same.  
  
“Hey, Ahab, you came,” John sputtered out as Brian walked into the room. Brian stopped and faltered when he saw John. His upper lip was split and stitched, nose broken, right eye swollen and a bandage covering his left ear where he had still worn the diamond earring. Brian could also see that his left hand was in a cast, and when John went to raise his other hand in an attempt of greeting as if nothing was wrong, Brian saw his wince into his side and concluded there were probably a few broken ribs involved too.  
  
“Jesus, what happened?” Brian asked.  
  
But before John got to answer, Brian was thrown into one hug after another as first Claire, then Andy and finally Alison took turns. It was good, but incredibly weird to be in a room with them all again. It had been a long time. There had been no falling out, no harsh words; it had happened naturally like they knew it would.  
  
Andy had gotten a full ride to Notre Dame and Alison had gone with him. Claire had gone to school in California and then got a job overseas-- ah connections and the nouveau riche network. No, Brian wasn’t bitter.  State school with its in-state incentives allowed him to excel without the need to make scholarship ends’ meet. That had allowed him to get accepted to MIT for grad school. There were no connections or schmoozing that would buy your way into the programs he was interested in anyway—at least none that he could afford.  
  
“Just like old times,” John said.  
  
It looked like it was painful to talk, so Brian asked the room at large this time, “What happened?”  
  
Andy shrugged and looked away. Alison shook her head and Claire glared at John before addressing Brian. “He told us some bullshit about a mugging. Maybe _you_  can get the truth out of him.”  
  
The way she drawled out the _you_  sounded almost accusatory. So yeah, she knew—knew Brian was on the team that had come between her and John— _as if that relationship would have worked anyway_ , Brian thought, and was shocked that this time he actually was bitter. Why? He wasn’t sure.  
  
There was a strange moment when they all just looked at each other for a minute and then Claire grabbed her Gucci bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m getting an espresso. I’ll be back.”  
  
“We’ll join you. Let these two catch up,” Alison said, almost pulling Andy after her.  
  
They all left and Brian watched them go and turned to John. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”  
  
John smiled painfully. “Sorry.”  
  
“So, you told them?”  
  
“Accident.”  
  
“What, telling them or what happened to you?”  
  
“Telling. Andy and Alison were playing marriage counselors. Claire got angry and told them about me. They were as shocked as you were, though not as angry. They laughed and said something about how they had always thought—”  
  
“That it would be me?”  
  
John winced and Brian wasn’t sure if it was pain or second-hand embarrassment. “Sorry.”  
  
John never apologized and had done it twice in the last five minutes. He must be more injured than he’s letting on, Brian concluded, so he waved the apology away. “Not your fault I’m apparently the poster boy for the gay lifestyle.”  
  
“They don’t know anything about the gay lifestyle.”  
  
“Well, neither do I, really,” Brian started. “Is that why you’re in here?”  
  
John looked confused, as if he had missed a thread. “Because of the gay lifestyle?”  
  
Brian glared.“Because you’re gay. I mean, this is a lot of damage for a simple mugging. Were you… _gay bashed_?” Brian asked, leaning in and whispering the last part.  
  
John barked out a laugh that looked painful. There were tears in his eyes by the time he was done and Brian didn’t know if that was from the pain or the hysteria that John was clearly suffering from. Brian went to push the button for the nurse, but John stopped him.  
  
“I’m fine. That was just… just adorable. _Gay bashed_. You make it sound so whimsical.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“I know. You just can’t help it.”  
  
Brian wasn’t going to let John make this about Brian’s adorableness, or his naiveté, or whatever else John was doing. “Then tell me, what happened.”  
  
“Wrong place, wrong time.”  
  
“Really? That’s the story you’re going with?”  
  
“What does it matter?”  
  
“It matters. To me, and to you, don’t even say it doesn’t.”  
  
John tried to turn his head, but when that seemed to prove too painful, he just looked away. He whispered, “Can we talk about this later? Please.”  
  
He sounded so fragile that Brian just nodded. Truth was, he wasn’t ready to see John weak and broken, not in any way that Brian himself could relate and do nothing about. It was different than the many times John had been jobless, homeless and in some sort of trouble with the law.  
  
There was no denying that this senseless brutality that being gay in Chicago in the ‘90s could garner could have just as easily happened to him. Probably should have happened to him. After all, it was Brian’s idea for John to move to Chicago, to take risks and frequent places that led to him being in this situation in the first place.  
  
  
  
October 23, 1992  
I-90 heading east  
  
John sat curled up on the Greyhound bus’ outdated fabric seat and stared at the blur of countryside out the window. He had glared at enough people with his face still a mess of bruised scars that he now had a seat all to himself. Next to him was a Army issue duffel bag that contained all he possessed in the world. It had been a gift from his father the last time he had been kicked out of his childhood home, along with the instructions to ‘Join the fuckin’ military or get the fuck out of my house and my hair.’  
  
He must have been out of his goddamned mind to have even gone back home. He blamed it on the pain medication he had been on at the time. Percocet made everything manageable. Boss comes to the hospital two days after the attack and fires him, no problem; rent’s due on the apartment he can’t even climb the stairs to get to, no problem; he calls his mom and begs for something he’d up to that point rather live in sewage than ask for, no problem.  
  
Then the drugs wore off.  
  
It’s funny, John thought, that every time you think you’re at the very bottom and it can’t possibly get worse, it somehow does. This time, this right now, heading to a friend who had sounded just a bit wary when he had last talked to him was the lowest he could ever imagine getting. Okay, maybe it wasn’t haha funny.  
  
“You need to get out of Illinois. I’ve been saying it for years,” Brian had said.  
  
“Yeah. It’s not as easy as that. Some of us don’t have the sort of bright futures that lend themselves to pack up and move.”  
  
“Bullshit. What is tying you to Chicago?”  
  
John didn’t answer. What was stopping him from going anywhere, doing anything? John knew what it was but couldn’t admit it to anyone, not even, especially not Brian.  
  
Fear.  
  
Everyone expected him to be a lot tougher than he was, to be daring and take risks. The last risk he’d taken had put him in the hospital for three days. He couldn’t remember the risk before that. But, something in Brian’s constant urging had planted itself in John’s mind and it was easier to change your life in a new place, and it was easier to be in a new place if there was at least one familiar face. So there he was getting off the bus in Boston and heading towards Cambridge.  
  
He understood the wariness, of course he did. Brian had finally gotten out of the horrendous state, had gone to be brilliant and accomplish great things. The last thing he needed was an old friend, an old loser of a friend bringing him back down. No matter that Brian had told him many times that he was there for John, would help him in anyway he could, that he believed in John and wanted John to believe in himself. It was easy to say those things, especially when you moved away and never imagined you’d ever get the call. It wasn’t the first time Brian had gotten the call either. _Jesus, of course he’s wary_ , John admonished himself.  
  
He knocked on the door of the address Brian had given him on the phone a week before. It was off campus and Brian shared it with three other guys--one of them a classmate, the other two undergrads at Harvard. John had promised to be on his best behavior and to not embarrass Brian.  
  
“Hello,” the man who opened the door greeted.  
  
“Hi. I’m looking for Brian Johnson.”  
  
“Bri? Awesome.” He was young and blond and the exact replica of what to expect from an Ivy League gent. He leaned against the doorframe. “He’ll be right back, just had to turn in something or research something or... well, who knows. Come on in, he said to expect you and to be cordial, as if I needed to be reminded to be hospitable.” He moved into the hall and gestured to John. “Please, do come in.”  
  
John took a deep breath and walked into the house.  
  
The man extended his hand. “Name’s Jason, nice to meet you.”  
  
“John, likewise.” It sounded so phony in his head, but the man just smiled and walked down the hall, John following.  
  
“So, you’re an old friend of Bri’s? Highschool, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Bri and I go way back,” John said, trying not to laugh when saying it-- _Bri_. It was weird.  
  
“It will be good to have you here.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Absolutely. Bri says you always have the best drugs.”  
  
It took John a moment to muster a smile and he hoped it looked more genuine than it felt. “Well, sadly, I’m about a thousand miles from my contacts, but give me a day or two.”  
  
“Perfect. Finals are coming up.” Jason laughed and led John through the house. It took everything in John to follow the man instead of walk back out the door and straight back to Chicago. So, that was why Brian had suggested John come out. Brian didn’t want John to re-invent himself, Brian wanted him exactly as he had been. He couldn’t believe he was that fuckin’ stupid.  
  
“So, here’s your room,” Jason said, opening a door to what looked like an office with a sleep away bed.  
  
“Am I putting someone out of their office?”  
  
“No, just Bri. We’ve all got two rooms to use anyway we see fit, so no worries.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Well, thank you.”  
  
Jason left and John sat down, weary and a little heartbroken. _I have no where else to go and now_ , this, _is the lowest I can go_.  
  
He was just about to lose his mind and get up and find his way back to the bus station when the phone rang. He waited for someone who lived in the house to answer it. No one did.  
  
He opened the door and peeked his head out. “Hello?” No one answered. “The fuck?” he mumbled to himself and then went to the phone.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“John! Is that you?”  
  
John took a deep breath. It was good to hear Brian’s voice, more importantly, it was good to hear it sound happy to find John there answering his phone. “Yeah, it’s me.”  
  
“Great! You made it. How was the trip?”  
  
“Horrendous, what’d you think?”  
  
Brian just laughed. “It’ll be great to have you here…”  
  
John tried to push the conversation that he and Jason had earlier out of his mind and not read anything into how happy Brian’s seemed.  
  
“…be there shortly, or, if you’re feeling up to it, we could meet for some drinks?”  
  
Being at a bar with Brian, getting loaded, forgetting all the apprehension, all the disappointments sounded like the best plan he’d ever heard. “Tell me when and where.”  
  
They met at a bar close to the house. John couldn’t tell if it were a gay bar or a sports bar—or both. There were TVs with a Celtics game on and the place was filled with men, some with jerseys, some with business suits and everything in between. John didn’t fit in, he never would, not in Boston—he hated the Celtics, the Red Sox and the Bruins—but he didn’t really stand out either.  
  
Brian was at a table with about five guys--at least one of them super gay--as he had his tongue down Brian’s throat. John stopped and just stared, wishing the floor would open and swallow him. He’d seen Brian be hit on, he’d seen Brian clumsily attempt flirting, but he’d never seen Brian like this: so happy, so comfortable in his own skin.  
  
There was something else running through his veins, another emotion he didn’t want to deal with--fear. They were in public. Yeah, it was probably a gay bar by the lack of outrage from two dudes kissing in the middle of the bar, but still, John had seen first hand the rage that some felt about him and his kind. And he hadn’t even been blatant about it, not like Brian was being now.  
  
There were flashes of that night two months ago running through his head, blurring his vision of Brian and his friends. He felt the hands on him, pushing him against the cement wall, punching, kicking...  
  
“John!” Brian called, but it barely registered over the buzz in John’s ears. He was hot and having a hard time breathing. He turned and walked back outside, but the dark night, breeze and the fresh air just brought the memory back stronger. He _felt_  the breath on his face, the spittle of the vile words pelting him-- _Queer! Faggot!_  
  
“John! Jesus, what happened?”  
  
Brian was there beside him on the street. John tried to  pull himself together, but instead he bent down and breathed deep, fighting against throwing up right there in the street. Although, if he threw up he could excuse all this behavior with already being drunk. That was something familiar that could easily be excused, even laughed about. He’d like to laugh right now.  
  
So he did. “I’m fine... just needed... air.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah. Just travel. And you... in there... seeing you so... so... happy.”  
  
He looked up just in time to see the blush redden Brian’s cheeks adorably. John wanted to slap himself. _What is wrong with you?_  
  
“That freaked you out this badly?” Brian said with a chuckle.  
  
“I don’t... belong... what am I doing here? Why did you...”  
  
“John, come on. Come inside. You’re freaking out. Let’s talk.”  
  
“Okay, but not in there. I don’t want your friends to...”  
  
“Okay, come on.” He led John down the street.  
  
They walked about a block before John stopped because he had to know, “Why did you want me here?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Brian asked, urging them to keep walking.  
  
“Your roommate, Jason? He said something about needing a drug dealer--”  
  
“Jesus, John! You think I brought out here to supply drugs? Really?”  
  
John stopped again. “Then why? You’ve clearly got a life out here. You’re happy. Why would you want me?”  
  
Brian stopped too and turned to look at John, as if trying to figure him out. “I want you to be happy too. I wanted you out of Chicago.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Brian looked around then pushed them out of the pedestrian traffic. “Why do I want you happy? John, you’re my best friend. You deserve to have a life worthy of you. I thought Chicago would give you that, I was wrong, I’m sorry.”  
  
John just stared at him. “You blame yourself for what happened to me?”  
  
Brian looked down. “I urged you to move there, to go to those places, those places where things could... where they did...”  
  
John took Brian’s face in his hand, his thumb curved under his chin, forcing Brian to look at him. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It happened. It could have happened anywhere.”  
  
They just stared at each other for a moment and John realized that he’d never really touched Brian before. Not like this. They’d rough-housed from time to time back in the day. But this was different. It felt _much_  different. He felt Brian swallow and nod.  
  
John slowly leaned forward, brushed his lips against Brian’s, breathed a moment before pressing, licking. For the sweetest of moments the kiss lingered. Then Brian pushed against him and the spell was broken.  
  
John buried his face in Brian’s neck, too humiliated to look at him, too weak to move away. “Why not?”  
  
“Not now. Not like this,” Brian breathed, rubbing his hands up John’s back, hugging him tight to him as if he knew how desperately John wanted to run away. “I love you too much. Need you too much to be one of your bad choices.”  
  
John coughed a sobbed laugh. Brian released his grasp and this time he lifted John’s chin, forcing John to look at him. “When you’re ready, when _we’re_  ready to make better decisions. I’ll be here. Okay?”  
  
John nodded, fighting the urge to try for one more kiss. Instead he hugged Brian tight to him and whispered, “One day soon. I’ll be the sort of person who deserves you.”  
  
Brian returned the hug. “Me too.”


End file.
